


All But Erased

by disillusionist9



Series: Choose Dare [90]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, F/M, Memories, Pensieves, Pre-Goblet of Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disillusionist9/pseuds/disillusionist9
Summary: Drabble #75 of 100 | Peter lets go of the last shred of a memory





	

Peter stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he cast several charms, paying close attention to the movements of the end of his wand, his eyes focused entirely on the patch of dirt in front of him. He'd been practicing for hours, trying to get the little flowers beneath the snow to rise against the natural order of things for an early winter afternoon. Flitwick expected small bouquets on the desks of all the fourth years in the next class. Tomorrow loomed over him, and he sighed mightily as he repeatedly hit his head against the tree he stood by, closing his eyes against the glare of sun off the snow around him.

"How-ye, Pettigrew?" Marlene called as she walked by with a few other Quidditch players, marching back from the Pitch, lifting their knees to bring their feet over the foot high snow. Her words, carried by the pillow of her softened Irish accent, molded through spending most of the year amongst a melting pot of accents and dialects, carried over the snow effortlessly to him. Just as it did over the rowdy conversations in the common room or the scraping cutlery in the Great Hall, her voice called him to attention, snapping his head around.

"'Ello, Marlene," he said, continuing to spin his wand around in little infinity symbols, facing the frozen ground before him.

She waved as she walked away, the tops of her boots caked with snow attempting to fall down into her socks. His hand lifted in a returned greeting though it fell before she saw it.

The swirls of the Pensieve curled around him as he lifted up and out of the potion, feet landing heavily on the hard-packed dirt floor of their current hideaway. The bassinet-style carrying case for the Dark Lord filled one corner of the hovel, and slow hissing breathing told Peter his Lord was still asleep there beneath the thick oil-cloth.

Another shiver ran over his arms and shoulders as a crack in the walls let a blast of winter air into the shed.

Scrunching up his nose to try to remember the right spell, that detail slipping through his memories as quickly as melting ice, Peter raised his wand to begin coaxing a rose to rise from the earth beneath his feet. The tiny Pensieve, he was charged to keep as safe as his Lord's tiny and horrific body, floated several feet off the floor to the side, reflecting bright lights of the memories within.

A single red rose, with more thorns than petals, burst from the floor, falling to its side nearly immediately. Peter could tell even in the half-light that the flower was half-rotted before it'd even bloomed. Regarding it quietly, he poured the last of his precious memories of Marlene McKinnon on top of the rose, using his heel to crush it all to oblivion, erasing another shred of the humanity he knew he didn't deserve.


End file.
